The deeper Mael walked into the hollowed citadel, the heavier the air became. Dust floated like slow-falling ash, disturbed only by the steady rhythm of his steps. The walls that had once glittered with symbols of imperial glory now sagged with fractures, their artistry devoured by time and violence. The great hall ahead yawned open, its vast arch cracked from top to bottom, as if the whole structure were exhaling its last breath.
Mael crossed the threshold.
Silence embraced him. Not the peaceful kind, but the kind that stretched so long it seemed to become a living thing. A presence that observed, waited, and judged. At the far end of the hall stood the shattered throne, raised upon a broken platform of marble. It looked almost small now, stripped of its banners, stripped of its light, stripped of the arrogance that had once crowned it.
He approached slowly.
The shadows pooled around the throne, thick and oddly still. The place felt frozen in its last moment, as though the memories of fallen rulers clung stubbornly to the air, unwilling to vanish. Mael placed a hand on the armrest. It was cold, colder than the stones around it, as if the seat retained a portion of every life claimed in its name.
He closed his eyes.
A faint pulse answered, trembling beneath his palm. Not life. Not magic. Something older. Something waiting.
Behind him, soft footsteps entered the hall.
Seris had followed, though she kept her distance. Her breathing trembled, but her voice did not.
"Mael… something is wrong with this place."
He opened his eyes. "Yes."
"What is it?"
"A memory that refuses to die."
Seris shivered. Her gaze wandered the hall, lingering on the torn murals and the scorched floor, then on the throne. "You knew this place before, didn't you?"
Mael didn't answer immediately. The truth threaded itself through him like a blade drawn slowly from a wound. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.
"I fought here. Long before this ruin."
Seris stepped forward, almost surprised. "In your previous life?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
Mael drew in a quiet breath.
"There was a king. A tyrant. One who believed the world existed to kneel before him. I confronted him here, in this hall. I destroyed him." His fingers tightened around the throne's armrest. "The empire died that day. But its shadow…" He looked around the hall. "Its shadow was patient."
Seris lowered her gaze. "Is that why you came back? To finish what you started?"
"No. I did not choose this path. It was forced upon me."
A sudden gust swept through the hall. The dust stirred violently, swirling into a sharp spiral before settling again. The shadows around the throne trembled, then converged inward, gathering into a faint, rippling form.
Seris gasped.
The silhouette of a figure shaped itself in the darkness. Tall. Thin. Draped in ghostly regalia that shimmered like fading starlight. Its face was smooth, without features, yet its presence filled the hall with suffocating weight.
Mael did not move.
"I knew you would linger," he said quietly.
The figure did not speak. It tilted its head, studying him with the cold curiosity of something that did not belong to flesh or breath.
Seris whispered, "What is that?"
Mael stepped forward. "A remnant. The last piece of the king's will."
The shadow pulsed, like a dying ember struggling to ignite again. Its form shifted, flickering between clarity and distortion. Mael felt it pressing against his thoughts, searching for an entry, for a weakness.
"You should have vanished long ago," Mael said.
Still, it said nothing. Instead, it raised a hand.
The hall erupted.
The walls groaned under a sudden force, and the air cracked like glass. Seris stumbled back, shielding her eyes as a pressure wave slammed across the chamber. Stone fragments burst from the ceiling, falling like heavy rain. Mael stood firm, the ground beneath him vibrating but refusing to move him.
The shadow hurled itself forward.
Mael met the attack with a single motion. His hand lifted, fingers closing around the air as though grasping an invisible blade. A line of raw power sliced outward. The impact split the darkness in half, sending ripples through the hall.
But the shadow reformed instantly.
Seris screamed, "Mael!"
He didn't turn. His gaze remained locked on the entity before him. "Stay back."
The shadow lunged again, this time splitting into several fragmented shapes. They darted across the hall, weaving through the air like jagged streaks. The temperature plummeted. Frost crawled up the pillars. The torches along the wall extinguished themselves in silence.
Mael's expression hardened.
He clenched his hand into a fist. The floor cracked. Energy surged upward, twisting into a spiraling barrier around him. The shadows collided with it, recoiling like waves striking a cliff.
Seris watched with wide eyes. "Is that… is that the old power you fear?"
"No," Mael replied, voice steady despite the chaos. "This is restraint."
The throne behind him groaned, as though awakened by the clash. The air trembled. A new force began rising from the marble platform, slow and ominous. Mael felt it, recognized it, and reacted too quickly for Seris to follow.
He stepped forward.
The hall straightened with his movement, as if obeying an unspoken command. The shadows gathered themselves, coalescing into a single mass that pulsed like a diseased heart. A whisper spread through the air, too faint to be understood, too cold to be human.
Mael raised his hand.
"Enough."
The hall went silent.
Every fragment of shadow froze mid-air, suspended in a trembling cloud. The ground steadied. The frost melted from the pillars. Light seeped back into the chamber like a slow sunrise.
Mael closed his fist.
The shadows convulsed.
A sound erupted from them—a sound that should not exist, a sound like grief buried beneath centuries of hatred. The darkness writhed violently, then collapsed inward, shrinking until nothing remained but a small pulse of dying light.
Mael stepped over it.
Seris stared, breath unsteady. "Is it… finished?"
"No," Mael said softly. "That was only its echo."
He walked toward the throne again. The pulse of light flickered once more, fading until it was no more than a faint shimmer trapped between cracks in the marble.
And then it sank into the throne.
The air went cold again.
Seris backed away. "Mael…"
He didn't look at her. His focus was entirely on the throne, now trembling with a subtle, unnatural rhythm. The stone darkened. Lines crawled across its surface, branching like veins. The structure groaned under an unseen force.
"It is trying to reform," Mael said. "The throne remembers its master. Memories are powerful things."
"What do we do?"
"We end the memory."
He placed both hands on the throne. The marble shuddered. The air shifted. A low hum vibrated through the hall, rising from the throne itself. Mael felt it pushing back, fighting to survive, to reclaim shape and voice and dominion.
He leaned closer, whispering against the cold stone.
"Your era is over."
Power surged through him. The veins of shadow burst across the throne, splitting open like fragile shells. Light poured out—blinding, violent, desperate. The structure cracked from base to crown.
And then it collapsed.
The throne shattered into dust.
A shockwave tore through the hall, sweeping dust and shadow away in a single breath. When the light finally dimmed, the space that had once held the empire's power was nothing more than a crater in the floor.
Seris approached slowly. "It's done," she said.
Mael didn't answer.
He stared at the empty space where the throne had stood. The silence that followed was not the heavy silence from before. It was lighter, cleaner, as if the hall itself exhaled in relief.
Seris touched his arm gently. "What now?"
Mael finally turned toward her. His eyes, once filled with the cold weight of memory, now held something quieter. Not peace. Not yet. But clarity.
"Now," he said, "we deal with the living world."
They walked out of the citadel together, leaving the ruins of a dead throne behind them.
Outside, dawn was beginning to rise.